I BLAME NETFLIX

Life Changes and Oversharing

Must See TV. Thursday night was THE night to watch television. Before we all started binge watching entire seasons in one weekend, we had to wait a week to see the next episode. Local bars and restaurants had watch parties, complete with drink specials. Home parties would include specialty catering and trivia.

I miss that kind of TV watching. I liked having something to look forward to. And everybody saw the same thing, so Fridays were almost as much fun as watching the Thursday night show since everyone was talking about it the next day.

Now we have hundreds of channels at our fingertips. We can literally watch anything we want, about any subject we want, at any time we want! Some say this is progress, the future. I say it’s exhausting. Now, instead of having something to look forward to each week, “TV night” can create a feeling of dread. Hours spent flipping through endless options, just to give up and go to bed. The next argument this supposed progress has created is the argument about whose settings we are going to search!

Of course, my user profile offers the best choices—romantic comedies, musicals, true stories of strong leading women overcoming what life throws at them. Anything with Hugh Jackman. My husband’s profile, on the other hand, contains movies about Big Foot, Alien Abduction, WWII, and documentaries.

We usually compromise on the documentaries. One such TV night changed our daily lives. The show went something like this: In order to be the healthiest versions of ourselves, we need to eat like elephants and rhinos. This theory was supported by interview after interview with elite athletes who said once they made the change, they were stronger, faster, and felt the best they had in years. The theory was further proven when blood samples and physical tests were analyzed. My husband was sold. We were going VEGAN!

Not so fast. . . . I reminded him I had been responsible for meal preparation for 25 years. He couldn’t just make an announcement and POOF it would appear. This wasn’t some rerun of I Dream of Jeanie!

He would help, he said. Not believing he actually would do it, that he would suddenly know where the cast iron pan was kept and how to use it after all these years. I would humor him, go along with it, knowing full well we would be back to normal in a few days. I’m sure I told him this was the outcome I expected.

You might call it spite—I call it a miracle. Do you know he actually went shopping, found the pan, and sautéed an assortment of vegetables! The first few times it was a little smokey in the kitchen. I didn’t say a word about it . . . the one sure-fire way to make sure you never get help is to give directions!

That was a year ago.

But when all was said and done, we didn’t go all-out vegan. Neither one of us wanted to give up eggs and cheese. We’re doing our personalized version of pescatarian, which I think means we eat fish and seafood and a lot of sautéed veggies. It has changed our daily lives—we do feel better, we might even be a little stronger and faster. We have vowed not to be one of “those” couples. You know the ones . . . they give detailed special instructions to waiters and make their eating habits the topic of every get together. We will eat meat if it is served to us, I still love chocolate cake—well, chocolate anything. It’s turned out to be a good thing that we can do together. I would have never believed it.

I blame Netflix. 

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